


A Drop of Hope (in a Sea of Despair)

by Catsintheattic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guilt, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Post Season/Series 05, Pre Season/Series 06, Psychological Trauma, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsintheattic/pseuds/Catsintheattic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When has taking a bath ever been simply about taking a bath?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Drop of Hope (in a Sea of Despair)

It’s Friday evening, and for the first time since Dean moved in with Lisa, he thinks about taking a bath instead of a shower to rinse off the dirt of the construction site where he is working. It has been raining all day, and the mud they’ve had to plough through is everywhere. His clothes are caked with the stuff, and even when he has finally peeled them off there’s still enough on him to plant a tree in. He’s cold and soaked through, and the idea of warm water all around him sounds promising. Besides, if Lisa’s place offers one advantage over the crappy motel rooms he’s stayed in while living on the road, it is hot water and a tub long enough to stretch out in instead of the usual cramped little shower stalls.

When the tub is two-thirds full, he decides he has waited long enough. He slides in, groaning when the hot water hits his white-from-the-cold skin. He leans back and rests his head on the rim of the tub, closes his eyes and listens to the running water. It’s soothing, at least for the first few moments.

Then the lapping of the water against the porcelain reminds him of Andrea Barr almost drowning in her bathtub. The wet hair against his neck triggers the memory of how he rescued a little girl whose name he forgot from a certain death in her family’s hotel’s pool. He remembers being dragged under by sea monsters so many times that all the images blur together into one of slimy tentacles fastening themselves onto his skin. But it is easy to recall the specific taste of the Siren’s saliva: saltwater mixed with blood and vomit. From there it’s just a shortcut to his memories of hell, to Alastair tying him down in a metal tub, slicing into him until the tub filled to the brim, slick and red. When Alastair finally made Dean’s blood boil, it was always for real. Demons don’t deal in metaphors.

Dean shivers in spite of the hot water. His breath is racing. Suddenly, all he wants is to get out of the tub, towel off and get to his stash of Jack hidden away in the duffle under his bed in the guest room. Probably team it up with a cold beer from the fridge to keep up appearances. Yet he remains frozen to the spot, can’t make himself move. It’s pathetic. He can’t even take a bath without breaking down.

A splash, and then a washcloth hits his chest. Dean’s eyes fly open.

“Are you going to soak in there all evening, or do you plan on getting clean any time soon?” 

Lisa’s voice is soft, playful. She can certainly see the fast rising and falling of his chest, but must have decided to ignore it. He can hear the invitation to laughter in her voice, but also the carefulness with which she’s trying to test his mood. If he will allow her to take care of him, or needs to be left alone. Most of the time, it has been the later. Tonight, he doesn’t flinch at her question, simply lets his body sink a little deeper into the water. It feels warm again, and he is grateful for her presence. 

Encouraged, Lisa crouches near the tub, fishes for the washcloth that is drifting lazily through the bubbles. Her strong hands squeeze the cloth and fold it to a square. Then she begins moving it over Dean’s body, starting with his shoulders. He closes his eyes again, concentrates on the touch of the warm, wet terrycloth against his skin. She rubs were the mud clings onto the little hairs on his arms and legs, smoothes the cloth over his chest. When she reaches his bellybutton, her movements grow hesitant.

“Don’t stop,” Dean mumbles, so soft he isn’t even sure if she heard him. 

But she continues the travel of her motions, guiding his body with gentle hands so she can reach around and clean his back, too. She takes a portion of shampoo and starts massaging it into his hair. Dean follows her every touch, pliant and relieved to be taken care of. It’s a new sensation, immediately haunted by his bad conscience. 

How he is taking advantage of her and can’t even give her back one good night of light-hearted fun. How he is nothing but trouble and she will suffer from it in the end. How he should have showered and made sure to at least order some take-out instead of slugging around in the bathtub, dirtying up the room.

He thinks of motel bathrooms and shower stalls and of how dirt tends to come lose a lot faster than blood. He thinks of towels sullied beyond cleaning, stuffed deep into garbage containers. Better let the manager think of them as stolen than find the remainders of another hunt and its collateral damage. 

All of a sudden, he thinks of nothing but Sam, Sam, Sam. Sam, who became collateral damage number one. Sam, whom he couldn’t save. Sam, who waits at the end of every memory. 

Dean grits his teeth against the pain. 

“Dean?” Lisa’s voice, still soft, reaches out to him. “You’re doing it again. Don’t. Stay with me. Whatever it is you’re thinking, it’s not true. You’re here. With me. It’s all … it’s all right.”

It isn’t. In fact, nothing is. Dean shouldn’t have a bathroom and a woman to take care of him while his brother is in a cage with the devil. He should try 24/7 to break out Sam from hell.

But he can’t. He made a promise to his brother. To try for real and live the apple-pie dream. Lisa and Ben would have never been his first choice for a family. But Mum and Dad and Sam are gone and will never come back. And if he’s completely honest with himself (something that doesn’t come easy to him), a part of him deep down hopes this thing with Lisa and Ben might work. Because he found the one woman who never flinched, who never asked, who never backed down. She doesn’t take shit from no one, but she takes care of her family. And out of some crazy miracle, she’s decided that Dean is family. 

At least she put him on an extended test run. 

So maybe this isn’t Dean’s to decide. Maybe this is Lisa’s decision after all. And if she says it’s all right, if she wants to clean him up after a long day and wash the mud from his skin, then maybe he should let her. Leave thinking about how to make it up to her for later. 

He looks at her, willing himself to let her in. As long as all he’s dragging home is mud from a construction site, that might not make him the greatest asshole on the planet.

Sam is gone, and there’s no going back to his former life. Dean is out. He made a promise.

Lisa’s hands have stopped massaging his scalp, and she leans forward to start the shower to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. Her hand is close to his face, and before she can turn on the shower, Dean catches her wrist, turns his face and leans into her hand. He closes his eyes against the soapy foam between her fingers. This time, the darkness doesn’t come with memories attached.

Lisa stills for a moment, and the bathroom goes completely quiet. Her fingers rest against the shell of his ear, and when she strokes lightly, it tickles. 

Dean sits up, feeling his face break out into a tentative smile. It feels good, almost against his will.

She smiles back at him, and it’s so radiant that all he can think about is how beautiful she is, how generous and strong. 

“Let’s get you out of here and into bed. And tomorrow, we’ll sleep in. All right?”

He nods. “All right, Lis.”

It’s like burn ointment on a body that has survived hell-fire, almost not enough to even register. But it’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> I took a bath. This is what I wrote. Paragraphs did her beta-magic on it.


End file.
